


Real This Time

by speakpirate



Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: Emison - Freeform, F/F, Post-Bedlam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 08:08:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7352890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speakpirate/pseuds/speakpirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"We're gonna miss our flight."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"We'll take the next one."</i>
</p><p>A story where that's exactly what they do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Real This Time

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers through Bedlam. Because this is what I wanted to happen the moment those words left Emily's mouth.

She talks the plan over with Hanna. She hates not telling the others, but she’s desperate and doesn’t have time for debate.

“You’re right,” Hanna agrees. “I’ll make the call.”

Emily waits in the car outside the hospital, hoping she’ll catch sight of Rollins leaving. The night shift nurses start pulling in, and Emily steels herself, not wanting to miss her chance. She wipes her palms on the white skirt of her uniform and adjusts the nurse’s hat on her head. She falls in behind a group of three women heading into work. The receptionist is busy gathering her things, getting ready to leave for the day now that visiting hours are over. She doesn’t even look up as they pass, and Emily catches the door after the nurse in front of her swipes her security badge.

She checks her watch and strides purposefully towards Ali’s room. A nurse is about to inject something into Alison’s IV. 

“No,” Emily says, louder than she intended. The nurse turns around. “I mean, Dr. Rollins sent me. To tell you that he’s changing her dosage. This one is cancelled.”

The nurse shakes her head. “About time. You ask me, he’s trying to put her in a coma with all these sedatives he’s got her on. Poor thing.”

Emily thinks about what kind of biting remark the old Alison would make to that, but it’s hard to imagine the old sharp tongued Queen B when confronted with Alison strapped to the bed. Looking all puffy and barely conscious. Her eyes seem to be having trouble focusing, but they snapped open at the sound of Emily’s voice. 

“Em?” she says, her voice a little slurry. With the slightest motion of her head, Emily tries to signal for quiet, tries to use her eyes to convey that there’s a plan in motion that hinges on Alison not calling her out right now.

The other nurse looks at Alison, questioningly. “What did she say?”

“Em,” Alison repeats. “I’m thirsty.”

Emily nearly doubles over with relief, as the other nurse fills a cup with water. “Of course you are, dear,” she clucks sympathetically.

“I can do that,” Emily offers, taking the cup and placing the straw gently in Alison’s mouth. “Don’t worry,” she mouths, as she crouches closer to Ali. 

Alison’s eyes are still glassy, and the look she gives Emily is completely unguarded. Emily’s heart starts to beat a little faster, either because of anticipatory plan-related adrenaline or because the look on Alison’s face is the same one Spencer had when Toby showed up alive with Dr. Sullivan in tow. The same one Hanna had when Caleb came back from Ravenswood. Like a black dress they’ve all worn in turn, but only to fancy occasions. Only when someone’s in love.

Emily gulps and winds up fumbling with the water, spilling a little on the front of Ali’s paper gown. She feels herself blush a little as she tries to wipe it off with her hand, and could swear that she sees the ghost of one of Ali’s old smirks quirking at the corner of her mouth.

And then an alarm starts to sound from another corner of the building. Emily’s startle is genuine, she’d gotten so caught up she completely forgot about the diversion. The other nurse is peering out the doorway as people run past in the hall. 

“Fire!” someone shouts. “Fire in the East Wing!”

“Go,” Emily says, as calmly as she can. “I’ll take care of her.” The nurse nods and takes off without any further hesitation.

“You came back for me,” Alison says, still a little woozy as Emily pulls out her dad’s old pocket knife and slices through the leather restraints.

“I never should have let you sign yourself in here,” Emily says, putting an arm around Alison’s shoulders to help her sit up. “You’re not crazy, Alison.”

Alison moves her arms as if she’s about to stretch, maybe flex her fingers and try to get circulation back after so many days of being pinned down. But instead she wraps them around Emily’s neck and kisses her.

The kiss still a trace of Ali’s old confidence, even though Emily can feel her trembling, can taste the salt of actual tears running down Alison’s face. And Emily lets herself imagine, just for a moment, that the two of them are in one of those terrible romantic comedies that Aria loves to watch. Finally here at the part where there are no more obstacles left and the music swells and they get their happily ever after. It could happen, she thinks, as Alison runs her tongue along her bottom lip. Even if it’s been a horror movie for the past eight years, all they have to do is make it out alive.

“I am crazy,” Alison says, when they finally break apart. “Crazy for not doing that the second you got back to town.”

Emily smiles. “We can talk about that later. We have to get you out of here, now.”

“If you could have held off on the make out session, we’d already be gone,” Mona Vanderwaal snarks, shooting them a look that’s half-amused, half-exasperated. She’s leaning against the doorway with her arms folded, wearing horn rimmed glasses and a white lab coat, a stethoscope dangling around her neck. “Now get her undressed.”

Mona tosses Emily a ball of clothes she had concealed in a black medical bag, and Emily quickly helps Ali take off the paper gown and change into jeans and a black tank top.

She snaps a foldable wheelchair open and motions for Emily to help Alison into it.

“Any sign of Rollins?” Emily asks.

“Stuck in his office in the East Wing,” Mona replies, with a wave of her hand. “Where, with any luck, the fire marshall will eventually find a pack of cigarettes and a lighter with his fingerprints on them in the supply closet.”

“You started a real fire?” Emily asks, horrified. “You were just supposed to pull the alarm!”

“I like to improvise,” Mona responds, as she tosses a blanket around Alison’s shoulders. “Keeps things interesting.”

Emily wheels Alison through the crush of people running in all directions through the hallways, Mona keeping a sharp lookout at their side. Alison reaches up and clutches Emily’s hand as they make it through the front doors.

A silver jag lurches forward to meet them, Hanna Marin grinding the gears as she skids to a stop inches from Emily’s right foot. Mona opens the passenger side door and pushes the seat forward so that Emily can help Alison clamber in the back. 

Emily tosses Mona the keys to her car. “Thanks for everything,” she tells her.

“Anything for a friend,” Mona grins. “Good luck.”

And then she’s gone, ditching the lab coat in a trash can as she melts into the darkness. Hanna screeches away from the curb just as the fire trucks arrive.

“When did you get a Jag?” Alison asks, blearily. “I might be hallucinating. And the meds are doing weird things to my stomach.”

“That’s not the meds,” Emily grimaces. “It’s Hanna’s driving.”

“Rude,” Hanna breezes, taking a hand off the wheel and turning around to look at them. “Who wants a boring getaway driver? Besides, I’ve been wanting to take this puppy out for a spin. Lucas has plenty of lawyers. He won’t mind!”

Hanna careens onto the entrance ramp for the highway to Philadelphia when blue and red lights start flashing behind them. 

“Oh my god,” Emily says, panicked. “We’re being pulled over!”

“We’re not,” Hanna says. “Don’t be mad, okay? I just - I knew you wouldn’t want to leave without seeing them.”

Emily peers out the tiny back window of the sports car and sees Spencer behind the wheel of a Rosewood police cruiser with Aria at her side. Aria gives her a jaunty wave, which Emily returns in spite of her confusion.

“How-”

“She fed Toby a whole batch of pot brownies,” Hanna says, unconcerned. “He’s so out of it, he won’t even notice it’s gone until next week.”

The speed with impunity thanks to their police escort, and Alison snuggles against Emily’s shoulder sleepily while Hanna gives Emily last minute instructions on the apartment that’s waiting for them, owned by a model she knows who’s working in LA this year, trying to break into movies. She keeps talking a mile a minute all the way to the airport, telling Emily about the best bakeries and which boutiques have the high end lingerie. She’s offering to make a map of which restaurants have the cutest waiters as they approach the passenger drop off area and Emily puts a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“I’m going to miss you, too.”

Hanna stifles a sob. “Be careful over there, okay?”

“You be careful over here,” Emily tells her. “Really careful. Like, wrapping yourself in a ball of bullet proof bubble wrap careful.”

“I’ll try,” Hanna promises as she throws the car into park. “And we’re all coming to visit as soon as this is over, okay? Lucas has three jets and I’m pretty sure he’s giving me one for my birthday.”

Then they’re out of the car, Alison leaning on Emily for support as Spencer and Aria run over to hug them both.

“I talked to my dad,” Spencer says. “They’re coming back tomorrow and we’re all going to go to the police. Who knows if they’ll be able to figure it out or not, but we can’t give this ‘A’ anymore power than they already have.”

“Call me,” Emily says. “As soon as you’re done. Let me know what they say.”

“As long as you call me as soon as you get there,” Spencer instructs her, hugging Alison hard. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Alison says. “All of you. I can’t believe you did all this.”

“All in a day’s work,” Aria says, smiling and wiping her eyes. “Take care of each other, okay?”

“I want a galley proof of the book,” Emily tells her. “Send it while the ink is still wet.”

“And autograph it,” Alison adds. “It’ll be worth big money some day.” 

Hanna pulls both of them into a final hug. “We’ll always be friends,” she promises. “No matter what.”

“Best friends,” Emily replies.

“Now go. Get out of here,” Spencer chides them, loading their luggage onto a baggage cart and handing Emily their passports and plane tickets.

Emily nods, a lump in her throat as she takes them and moves with Alison towards the terminal. 

She turns around and waves once they’re inside, grinning at the sight of the three of them, still standing by the stolen police car and waving like mad. Hanna is wearing a beret, and Spencer is waving a small French flag. Aria holds up a handmade sign with a picture of the Eiffel Tower that says, “Bon Voyage!”

“I’m pretty sure I’m dreaming,” Alison says, planting a soft kiss on the nape of Emily’s neck. “But if I am, I don’t want to wake up.”

“No,” Emily tells her. “It’s real this time.”

Soon enough, they make it through security and hurry down to the gate, where their plane is already boarding. And then they’re being ushered into first class, thanks to Hanna’s frequent flyer miles, and then it’s wheels up and the lights of Rosewood and Pennsylvania and the East Coast are fading into pinpricks behind them.

Emily kisses the top of Alison’s head as she drifts off to sleep again. She wakes up with a start three hours later. The cabin lights are dimmed and there’s nothing visible outside the window but the darkness, nothing below but the choppy waters of the Atlantic. But Emily is right there beside her, stroking her hair soothingly as she flips through a magazine. Alison closes her eyes, then opens them again. The scene doesn’t blur or change shape. She can feel the fuzzy wool of her sweater sleeve, the warmth of Emily’s body next to her. There’s a fruit plate on the tray in front of her and she takes a tentative bite of a strawberry, which tastes fresh and juicy and amazingly real. She blinks again, looking over at Emily.

“You came for me. After everything that -” she stops, not trusting her voice not to break if she continues. “Please tell me this isn’t just a really good hallucination.”

Emily kisses her, and her lips are soft and the kiss is sweet and slow and unhurried, like they have all the time in the world. “I keep telling you,” she whispers. “It’s real this time.”

“I thought we missed our chance.”

“No,” Emily says, squeezing her hand. “It just took us longer to get here than we thought.”

“I kept having the same dream. We couldn’t find each other. We missed our flight.”

“It’s okay,” Emily says, soothingly. “We’re here now. We're on the next one.”


End file.
